One winter, Benton had explained the concept of fate to Dief by reading aloud from Hamlet. Fate, Dief had learned, was something that happened only to very stupid humans in highly improbable situations, and thus probably did not apply to wolves.
The things that happened to them in Chicago felt like that, like fate: stupid humans, improbable situations. Dief tried to communicate that to Benton by leaving a delicately chewed copy of Hamlet on the foot of Benton's bed.
The book whacked him on the rump as he dove out the window, fleeing Benton's vengeance.
That felt like fate, too.